Prague Spring
by citoyenne
Summary: "One would have said, to see the pensive thoughtfulness of his glance, that he had already, in some previous state of existence, traversed the revolutionary apocalypse", Victor Hugo wrote about Enjolras. What if 1832 was not the last time either, that he made such an experience? After being shot at the barricade, Enjolras suddenly wakes up in Prague, 1968...
1. Prologue

What follows is the updated and reviewed version of what was my first and so far the only attempt to write some fanfiction. This was written in 2013, the year in which Les Misérables came into my life and changed it forever. This is actually some sort of cross-over of the story that I hope to turn into a book at some point and Les Misérables itself. I had already almost forgotten about this and was convinced that I would never ever write a continuation. But now that my passion for Les Mis arose anew, I thought I might go back to it. This was originally posted in the Abaissé forum and thus got lost with it. However, thanks to website archival, and my own archive, it was possible for me to retrieve the two published chapters. As I strongly believe that they deserve to be found in some way or another and shall not get lost in the black holes of the internet, I am thus posting them once more. Hopefully, when my schedule and my inspiration permit it, this shall be continued.


	2. Chapter 1

When Enjolras gets awake, the sun is shining through the window. It is early afternoon. It is as he had been sleeping for days. He looks around but there is nothing here that he would recognize except himself. He doesn't know the room he is in. How did he come here? He doesn't remember anything. Where are all the others? He was with them yesterday, wasn't he? This is so confusing.

He steps outside, maybe he finds them there. And hears indeed voices. Are they here? Enjolras enters the room to find it out. The people in there seem to be not much younger than he is and in this moment they are involved in a discussion. They are so focused on their argument, that they don't even noticed him when he entered the room. But as soon as he realizes there is no one and nothing he knows, Enjolras goes back into the room he just comes from.

Is this his room? It seems to be. But why is he here and how did he get here? Yesterday everything was as it always was, wasn't it? They were preparing their revolution. And they were discussing just as those people here do. Was it really yesterday?

He examines his room. Everything looks different. He looks out of the window. That is not Paris, he thinks. The houses look so much different from the ones he knows. And also, the people looked so much different, the clothes they wear, their hair, everything. What were they discussing about? He doesn't know. He was thinking too much about their appearance, his appearance. That just seems so strange.

More and more he remembers. There is the funeral of General Lamarque, he sees himself and his friends build the barricade. But what happened then? He sees them fighting at the barricade, he sees several of his friends die. Bossuet, Feuilly, Courfeyrac, Combeferre. One followed the other. More and more the pictures come again in his mind. He sees the barricade fall, how they retreat to the Corinthe . He sees himself as the only one who was still living, the approaching soldiers of the National Guard, determined to kill him. He sees Grantaire joining him. "Vive la République" he said. But why did he do that? He didn't expect that from him. Why did he just give his life away? Why for once he was not drunk? Then there is that one sentence. "Do you permit it?", he asked. He sees himself and Grantaire, expecting what has to come, standing face to face with those soldiers with their guns, who are about to kill them, to execute them Now he understands. He spent much time asking himself why Grantaire was even interested in defending their revolution. But what if he did not go to battle for the Republic, for democracy but for him? What if his only wish was to die together with him?

These were the last instants he remembers. But what came after that? He did not die. That cannot be possible. If he was dead, he could not be here living? But he also does not look like as he had been fighting on a barricade for several days. So how does he come here? And where is Grantaire? Did that really happen or was it only a dream? Or is this a dream? He doesn't know anymore.

On the table in the corner there are some books? Are those his books? He doesn't know it. It seems to him as he had never seen them before.

There is a newspaper too. As Enjolras starts to read it he realists that it is about topics that are very familiar to him. It is about freedom and democracy, that everyone should be allowed to say his or her opinion, to be actively involved in politics. It is also about progress which was made during the last months. Progress? He does not remember there was any progress. There are still so many people that are starving, people living in the street, children that don't have their parents anymore. There is so much hopelessness around, children that are born in this world of poverty and that do not have any possibility to get out of this bad situation. They are born poor and they die poor. Those people have to accept the situation without having a chance to participate in politics although they are just as much affected, if not even more, than every other citizen. It was them, the poor, for which Enjolras decided that something must be done. Curious what progress it thus may be, he continues reading. As he finds out it is all about Prague, not about Paris, not about his beloved Patria. But have they made so much progress in Prague? He does not think so. At least he didn't hear about any improvement of that kind in any European state. It was only now that he realized that this isn't French. That can't be French. That is Czech. But why does he understand it then? Until yesterday he didn't speak a word in Czech... That makes the whole thing even stranger. So maybe he is in Prague. And the people he saw were Czechs. But how did he get here? And why are they writing about Czechoslovakia? He never heard that term. Is that a nation? He does not think so. Prague and the Czech lands belong to the Austrian Empire, don't they? Have they started a revolution? Maybe they don't want only the people to be allowed to participate in what affects their daily live but declared independence from Austria. At least he is sure that he should find out more about that. If this really is like that and he somehow got here, he should help to retain those ideas. Probably the others were just talking about these concepts, maybe he should go there and join their discussion.

He closes the newspaper to do so. Just in this moment something even more alarming catches his eye. It is the date on which this journal was published: 7th of June 1968...


	3. Chapter 3

Well, this is not what Enjolras had expected. He just has to sit down, so much shocks him this message. So that is how it is, the twentieth century. Didn't he just talk about it, some days ago? "Citizens, the nineteenth century is great, but the twentieth century will be happy", he said. Now he wants to know how it really is. Is it how he expected it? At least what he heard of Czechoslovakia seems a good indication.

But how did he end up here? Could it be that he really died? He does not know, maybe he never will know it. What matters is that he is here, in the future. But what should he tell if someone asks him who he is or where he comes from? He can't just say that he was born in the nineteenth century and that he doesn't know how he came here. They won't believe it. Should he do as if he was one of them? But they would certainly recognize that he isn't. Because he doesn't know how they behave, what is interesting for them. All he knows is knowledge of the nineteenth century. He doesn't know enough about the politics of today.

He takes a further look around in what seems to be his room. Beside the bed and the table there is a cupboard that he has not examined yet. Maybe there are some twentieth century cloths in it, he hopes. And he should be right. There are some blue trousers of a strange cloth which he had never seen before. He now changes his cloths, so that he doesn't seem so different from his environment anymore There is a bag too, in which he finds some more books and what is even more interesting, his passport. Issued for a certain Julien Enjolras, citizen of the French Republic, it certainly has to belong to him. Other than a nice picture of him which seems surprisingly real it also contains a visa which allows him to stay in Czechoslovakia for the next year. According to the dates he entered the country yesterday.

While he is sitting on his bed, lost in his thoughts, someone knocks on his door. Now it counts, who may it be? These are his thoughts when he opens the door. Outside there is a young vivid woman. She is blonde and quite small.

"Are you alright or do you need something?"

Enjolras did not know what to answer.

"No, I am fine. Thank you for your concern. I'm only a little bit tired, I have just arrived."

"It is just because I saw you before. You seemed somehow confused. "

"It is nothing important. You don't have to worry."

She would not understand his worries.

"You are not Czech, are you? Where do you come from?"

"From France."

This statement makes her smile, Enjolras does not know why.

"This is great. I have never met anyone from France before. But where exactly do you come from?"

"I live in Paris but originally I come from Southern France. And you?"

"I am from Prague itself, I live here with my family. And why have you come here?"

Now it gets difficult. This is the first thought Enjolras has. Not knowing what provisions destiny has made for him here, a bit afraid to say anything wrong.

"I've come here to study. As I also do in Paris. But now what I needed was a change, a new experience. So I've come here to learn more about this country, its politics... Maybe then I can change something for the better there in France."

He now is sure what to do afterwards. He has to learn more about how his Patria has developed now. What if they ask him something and he can't answer it? Is that progress made just here or also at home? There is so much to find out.

"So you are interested in politics?"

"Yes." he just says.

He would have so much more to say about it, but he can't. Everything he always speaks about belongs to the nineteenth century: his ideas, the problems, the issues he talks about. He doesn't know whether that still applies to their point of view. What if it would sound odd to them?

"So am I. That is great. It is just what we were talking about before. You can join us if you want. You do not have to be afraid. Just say what you think. Or if you do not want you do not have to. But it would be interesting to know your experiences. You certainly have a different point of view than we have."

And she is right. It is just not the point of view she is expecting…


End file.
